


June 21st

by Irrealis



Series: Sid and Flower Feelings [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 NHL Awards, 2017 NHL Expansion Draft, Alcohol, Cuddles, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins, Sadness, Team Feels, Trades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 14:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrealis/pseuds/Irrealis
Summary: They went to the bar after everything was done, Carl, Sid, Flower, Phil and a hundred other NHL players, and they drank and laughed and ate deep fried bar food and Flower was happy until he wasn't.





	June 21st

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from **theladyscribe** : Sid/Hags h/c, post-expansion draft (Sid's never been traded anywhere and he asks Hags what it's like)
> 
>  **Note** : Corrected title. Oops.

They went to the bar after everything was done, Carl, Sid, Flower, Phil and a hundred other NHL players, and they drank and laughed and ate deep fried bar food and Flower was happy until he wasn't. Sidney seemed to know the second the mood shifted, something like the way he always knew where you were on the ice, and hustled them upstairs to his hotel room.

"I should go back to Vero," Flower protested, as Sid sat him on the bed and pressed another bottle of beer into his hand.

"She can come get you," said Sidney. "You're going to cry the next time someone wishes you well and we don't need that on the news tomorrow." He picked up his phone and started tapping at it laboriously.

Carl was pretty sure Flower wasn't the only one who would cry, but he bit his lip and held his tongue. He was an outsider in this. He loved Flower, of course he loved Flower, but sixteen months wasn't the same as twelve years. He wasn't a part of their "remember when"s or "I'll miss"es. He exchanged a look with Phil. 

Phil started to stand up and Sidney turned the conversation to the night's award winners. They spent half an hour arguing about who should or should not have won each award. Through unspoken mutual agreement, none of them deigned to engage Sidney in a debate on the relative merits of McDavid's play. They were all united on Karlsson, which was gratifying.

"Couldn't even get you an award to send you off," Sidney complained.

"Don't worry. It'll be the Vezina next year," said Flower, and Sidney groaned.

Someone knocked on the door and Sidney diligently checked the peephole before unhooking the chain and letting Vero in. She looked around the room thoughtfully, then pulled Sidney into a tight hug. She murmured something in French, and Sidney replied barely above a whisper.

She didn't give Phil or Carl a hug, but she gave them a look so warm and sympathetic that it felt almost as good.

Vero spoke to Flower quietly before she gathered him up and they left, arms wrapped around each other.

The three of them sat on the bed and contemplated their beers in silence.

"Hey," said Phil. "It's not the end. Getting traded, or... whatever this is. If you love the city, it's still part of you. Fuck them if they say it isn't."

"We'd never," said Sidney. "Pittsburgh won't. I won't let them."

Phil wrapped an arm around Sidney's shoulders and bumped their heads together. He raised his bottle to the ceiling and took a swig, Sidney and Carl following suit. 

Phil's phone chimed, and it took him three attempts to fish it out of his pocket and squint at the screen. "It's Amanda. I better go." He finished his beer off and got to his feet. "Good night! Or morning. Get some sleep."

Carl tried to follow Phil out, but Sidney interpreted the action as getting another drink from the mini-fridge and asked him for a beer.

Well, another one couldn't make it any _worse_.

There weren't any words that could make this better, so he didn't try. He took a gulp from the bottle and grimaced. He hated American beer.

"Thanks for coming," said Sidney. "I really didn't want to do this alone."

"You did great," said Carl. "I'm glad I could be here." He twisted his bottle in his hands. Sidney was doing the same thing, treating it more like something to hold than showing any interest in its contents.

Carl wondered if he would even be able to walk back to his room. He couldn't remember what floor it was on. Had he kept the slip of paper in his wallet? Where was his wallet? Back pocket, he could feel it digging into his buttock.

"I've never been traded," said Sidney suddenly.

This was such an obvious facet of reality that Carl waited for him continue without trying to think of a response. It took longer to come than he thought. 

Or maybe all the beer was distorting his sense of time.

"I've never joined a new team in the same league, played against guys who used to be my teammates. I don't know what it's like." He looked at Carl through his lashes, eyes glassy with the alcohol but otherwise radiating attentiveness.

Carl thought about it. "It's not so different from playing internationally," he pointed out. "New team, new..." He waved a hand. "Chemistry. Playing against your teammates."

"But I get those guys _back_ ," Sidney insisted. "It's not like we're enemies forever and ever."

"You've played against guys who were traded," said Carl.

Sidney's shoulders slumped. "It's not the same."

Maybe it wasn't. Carl untangled his thoughts slowly. "It's not easy," he said. "Sometimes... Sometimes you join a team and there's nothing there. Nothing goes right, and there's nobody there you trust enough to talk to. You're lonely, and alone, and that makes it keep getting worse."

Sidney nodded, like this was what he'd feared.

"But sometimes it's better. You get lucky. The team wants you there, wants what you can bring on the ice. You have a friend, you _make_ friends... It's good. Off ice and on."

"I'm glad," said Sidney, almost managing a smile before his expression turned pensive again.

"He's going to be fine, Sid. They're going to love him, like you love him, like I love him, like, hell, Braden Holtby loves him and they've barely spoken. He'll be the heart and soul of that team and they'll walk through fire for him."

"Yeah," Sidney breathed. "They better."

"They _will_. We don't have goons," said Carl, "but we can make them sorry if they don't."

Sidney formed a fist and shook it somewhere in the direction of the door. "I am so fucking drunk," he muttered, slumping onto Carl's shoulder. He was heavy. What he lacked in height he made up for in muscle.

Carl slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. "Me too," he whispered. "C'mon, Sid. It's like... late o'clock."

"Give me a moment," said Sidney, and they sat together on the edge of the plush hotel bed. He could feel Sidney's breathing; hear it coming out unsteady and wet.

Carl blinked a few times and took a few shaky breaths of his own. He felt very warm, and it was getting harder to think.

"OK," said Sidney. He unwrapped himself from Carl and tottered towards the bathroom. After a moment, his head popped back around the door. "Just sleep here, eh. Not worth the risk."

Carl scrubbed at his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Sounds good."

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfiction: because you may as well turn your sadness into something productive.
> 
> Thanks to **snickfic** for the title suggestion, which is the two dates Flower was drafted on (2003 and 2017).


End file.
